Four Years
by SanityIsNotStatistical
Summary: After the War Harry enters a deep state of depression, unable to take it anymore he fakes his own death and disapears. Four years later, where is Harry now the whole world believes he killed himself? And what has become of those he left behind?
1. Articles, Announcements and Hauntings

**A/N: This is my first ever fan fiction, so please R&R, even flames...I'm that desperate! Constructive critism is always appreciated and please let me know if I've made any mistakes/written anything that doesn't make sense! Thankyou, hope you enjoy:) **

**SanityIsNotStatistical**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own any of Harry Potter, no surprises there then:)**

Articles, Announcements and Hauntings

Within the playground muggle children were playing, their cries and shouts of laughter seeming the perfect sound track to the image of the sun peeking between the trees tentatively, as if it was debating whether to dowse them with it's warmth or not. No-one noticed the young man sitting on the bench among the trees.

He had a mop of black, unwieldy hair that fell across his green eyes, eyes that seemed to betray an age far more mature than his physical years. He wore glasses and traces of unshaven stubble plagued his hard jaw, set as if from habit in a tight expression.

His fringe fell across his face as he read the newspaper in his hands, a newspaper, which, if the occupants of the park were to take a closer look, would be unlike any other they had ever seen. The cumbersome fringe was swept back briefly, momentarily, to reveal a glimpse of a small, uniquely-shaped scar, quickly hidden again beneath the raven coloured locks.

But no-one in the park noticed him, despite his unusual clothes or the brooding demeanour that hung around him. Chiefly because he wanted it this way. When a wizard doesn't want to be seen, you can guarantee no muggle will find anything out of the ordinary, even if that wizard were to disappear infront of your very eyes with a loud _crack,_ even and especially if, that wizard is Harry Potter.

Harry turned the pages of the Daily Prophet, immersed in the information of the wizarding world that he had been eluding for four years. It was only here, in the presence of no-one but some unsuspecting muggles, that he let his disguising spell drop. His distinctive and famous features in the world of magic creating no reaction at their appearance at the park, he felt it was safe to let his magically blonde hair and sharp nose, thin mouth and grey eyes, melt away to release the natural exterior underneath.

He grunted under his breath at the latest scandal from Reeter Skeeter, whose determined gossip hunting and ruthless pen had kept her popularity rife even till then, and nodded to himself in approval at yet another new decision by the Ministry of Magic that would help prevent any repetition of the events that caused the War.

_Hermione is doing her job then._ He thought to himself, had he expected anything else from the strong-minded and intelligent Hermione Granger? _No,_ he had not, he concluded, quickly turning the page and covering up the photo of the once bushy haired girl, now confident woman, speaking fervently at a press conference.

He busied himself with the less personal news of the magical world, news that did not send a pang through his heart; he crossed over any articles about Hogwarts with equal uneasiness knowing the pain it would cause him to be reminded of the school that had become his first proper home, where he had gained his first proper family.

Suddenly, from the depths of his musings, Harry was jerked back to reality as he found himself staring at an all too familiar image. A photo of himself smiled nervously back at him, he recognised it as being recycled from his interviews just after the War, all those years ago. He apprehensively read the headline:

World's Most Famous Wizard Hero Announced Dead 

He read on:

The household name of Harry Potter is now to be officially used in the past tense, this is the equivalent of the statement the Ministry of Magic used this week. The wizard that has gone down in history books as the great hero who will be remembered for his defeat of the most evil wizard of our time, Voldemort, is now announced to be officially deceased. Harry Potter disappeared four years ago shortly after his defeat of The Dark Lord that ended the War, since then it has been widely accepted by the wizarding world that the young wizard had committed suicide shortly after his disappearance. But why has his death not been announced until now?

"Despite the evidence showing that he suffered from serious depression after his defeat of Lord Voldemort we have been reluctant to announce Harry Potter as officially deceased. It is not until now, when new evidence has come to light, that the Ministry must concede that suicide is the most probable explanation for the loss of one of our most deserving heroes." These were the words of Ron Weasley on Thursday, the ministry's head auror and one of Harry Potter's closest friends. Despite this late statement coming as no shock to the magical community the wizarding world still mourns this news. The official funeral is to be held later this month where many of the world's most important figures will attend. Although it had been four long years coming, the acknowledgement of this young man's death has the world remembering the horror of the war and lives that, seemingly even now, it cost to end.

Harry snorted derisively and slammed the newspaper down next to him. He had been reading the newspaper backwards, a habit picked up from his days at Twelve Grimmauld Place with Ron, Hermione and Kreacher, knowing that the really important stories of interest would be hidden in obscurity at the back. It was therefore not till now that he read the front-page article that consisted mostly of his own face smiling up at him.

"So this is what makes front-page news these days." He muttered sourly under his breath. But his thoughts had reminded him of the house he had known as his home those brief but strangely comforting months he had been on the run from the Death Eater's and their evil leader. With yet another pang that sunk to the heart he wondered what was now to be done with his house and house elf that were his only surviving memories of Sirius besides the photo album tucked away in his travelling trunk.

But this also brought thoughts of even less pleasant times spent at Twelve Grimmauld Place. It had been here that he was living when he decided to disappear, here that hosted unpleasant and painful memories that preceded his assumed death. One such scene haunted him now…

_Four Years Ago _

_There was a faint knock at the door. Harry jumped, he had not known anyone was in the house and now someone was here to disturb the hours he had spent staring mindlessly at the ceiling. _

"_Harry?" Hermione's voice carried tentatively around the door, followed by her head. Harry made no movement acknowledging her existence. He did not even blink as he continued to stare up at the ceiling. _

"_Harry, Kreacher let me in, did you know he's in such a state? You haven't come down for weeks, he says, you barely have anything to eat, he's worrying himself sick over you, we all are." _

_No movement. _

"_Look at you Harry, you're wasting away, you're starving yourself, you need help!" she was close to tears now, it was on hearing the pain in her voice that he first gave any appearance of hearing her. It was a small, imperceptible movement as at the sound of her tears he winced slightly. He vaguely knew someone was in pain, and it made him sad, but he was too far away to do anything, too lost in depression to move to help the crying girl. _

"_We're all waiting for you downstairs, all of the Order, half of the DA, Ron, Ginny-do you realise what this behaviour is doing to her? She's heartbroken because she can't do anything, because you sit alone in this empty house like a zombie…" _

_Over the last month almost every one of Harry's close acquaintances had come to try and snap him out of his depression, but none had been successful. Now, it seemed, they had banded together to make a joint effort. But their being all together only screamed to him of the empty spaces that were never to be replaced, the spaces people who were never coming to visit him again used to fill. _

"_We've come to take you back to the Burrow Harry, by force if necessary; we cannot let you go on like this." _

_Cautiously she walked forward, laying a hand on his shoulder; he finally looked at her, startled, as if he hadn't known she was there. His eyes were filled with such an unrecognising look that the tears spilled over. _

"_Oh Harry…" her voice broke. _

_There was a noise of footsteps and the door opened again, almost all the Weasley men entered. Almost. There was one whose footsteps were gone forever._

_Ron went over to Hermione to comfort her as Arthur, Bill, George, Charlie and even Percy Weasley stared worriedly at Harry's still figure._

"_He's not saying anything, it's like he doesn't know we're even here," she sobbed into Ron's shoulder. "Right Harry, you're coming with us," murmured Bill, pushing his sleeves up his scarred arms. _

_It was when they picked him up that he sprang to life, struggling and kicking as if his life depended on it, just wanting to be left alone to wallow, just wanting to crawl inside himself and never feel again…_

Harry shuddered at the memory. Picking himself off the bench he tucked the Daily prophet into a pocket of the oversized coat he wore. The muggle children continued to laugh and chatter as the sun made up its mind and light burst through the trees. No-one had noticed the strange young man sitting on the bench, a sense of persistent and dogged despair surrounding him, and no-one noticed as he walked away.


	2. The Burrow, Notes and Surrender

Harry, Ron and Hermione were sat in the library

**A/N: Truth be told, I've been having too much fun with this fan fiction, and have ended up writing lots of chapters so I'll be updating quite regularly, at least, for now. This chapter is quite short, but I thought we should see about the other two in the golden trio. Please, as always read and REVIEW!! **

**Disclaimer: Alas, no rights to Harry Potter do I own :(**

The Burrow, Notes and Surrender 

Ron Weasley sat at the kitchen table of his childhood home, a sombre mood enveloping the house that to so many, over the years, had symbolised comfort and love. The Burrow still held this symbolism for all who lived, or ever had lived there, however Ron could not help the sadness filling his heart at this moment.

Over the years he had lost his lankiness, his body growing slightly more into proportion. His stature had become more filled out and stronger, now he greatly resembled his older brother Charlie, minus the scars, and to look at him you would scarcely be surprised to find that he was now one of the country's best aurors. The War had affected him in unimaginable ways, but it was the years following it in which he, despite his young age, had proven his worth, his unerring loyalty and determination earning him high ranks within the Ministry. The years following had changed him in other ways too; Ronald Bilius Weasley had become a man.

In his hands he clutched a note; it was worn with handling, having been creased and uncreased numerous times but the words upon it had been read so many times they were known by heart. This was the new evidence that had come to light, pity it had not appeared sooner, but the world hadn't needed this damning evidence to assume Harry's suicide and Ron had been too stubborn to turn it over to the authorities until now.

_Four Years_, he thought bitterly, he and Hermione had been alone in their refusal to accept the facts as they clearly were, and everyone else had just looked at them the sadness in their eyes, the pity and sorrow. Even Ginny had given up, surrendered to the obvious, her heart too broken for hope. Hermione had been worn down over time until she had come to accept it and Ron, well; his announcement that week had been as much of a personal relinquishing of any hope as it was an admission by the Ministry.

Four years had been the amount of time he had had the note in his care, four years had been the length of time mostly everyone else had been urging him to give up what was clearly the suicide note of his best friend, Harry Potter. But he had been too sure, too deluded to realise the truth, Harry was not coming back, he was as gone as his brother was, as Lupin and Tonks were. He knew the fact that there was no grave for his friend, that no body had ever been found, had helped him keep up the denial for so long. There was no grave, but that was soon to change, and with it it would bring Harry's death into a reality he had never witnessed before.

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps as Hermione entered the room. She looked at him, the pain showing in her eyes as her gaze travelled to the note he was holding. Wordlessly she went to him, wrapping her arms around him in an embrace that was as much to comfort herself as him. He hugged her back.

She kissed him as she drew away; trying to distract him from the moisture in her eyes no doubt. "You did the right thing, Ron." He frowned and turned back to the note, "Did I?" he asked quietly, genuinely wondering to himself, "Why do I feel like I've betrayed him, Mione? Why do I feel like I've given up?"

"He's gone, Ron, we know that, despite how hard it's been to admit, and he wouldn't have wanted us dwelling on this-" her voice broke and she stumbled, composing herself she continued, "-this horrible nightmare. You know how utterly selfless he was, ofcourse you're not betraying him and Harry would know that."

"I know." He conceded quietly, "But-I was just so sure Hermione-Harry would never…how could he…it's just not like…" he trailed away, looking down at the table. "I've been thinking that way so long, I guess it's still hard to accept."

Hermione nodded, "Do you feel you can come to the funeral? If not…if it would be too hard…you know I'll stay here with you, I'll be wherever you need to be." Ron looked up into the eyes of the woman he loved and knew he didn't deserve, "No, I'll go, I owe him that, at least." The following kiss was soft and comforting as they held each other in the kitchen of the house that meant so much to so many people. On the table there sat a note, worn with handling, having been creased and uncreased numerous times but the words upon it had been read so many times they were known by heart. The sentences were crossed through and rewritten, the ink splattered with tears, there were dents where the writer had pressed so hard the quill had almost gone through the page:

_Life is too hard; I can't take it any more. _

_Each day is too much of a struggle; I see no point in carrying on with something so painful._

_I'm so sorry, please, forgive me. _

_I love you all._

_I have to do this, it hurts too much. _

_I have to surrender. _

**A/N: Thanks for all of you who put this story on your alert list. Does this last bit make sense? I was trying to tie in the chapter title with the suicide note, and trying convey the sense of 'giving in' all the characters felt, you know, surrendering to the grief, but if that doesn't come across I guess I was just thinking about it too much:) **


	3. Disguise, Struggles and Shadowy Corners

A/N: Again, thankyou to all of you reading this

**A/N: Thanks to my one and only reviewer Tx-Dancegirl-9657 who seems very sweet and encouraging! Thanks also to those of you who put this on your alert list. Enjoy. **

**Disclaimer: J.K Rowling, can you please stand up so all the lovely people can see you? Thankyou, now can you tell them how you own everything of Harry Potter? Yes well, no need to get big-headed about it, we all know you're a genius. Lets all applaud her shall we? Thankyou, now that's over, on with the story!**

Disguise, Struggles and Shadowy Corners

The moment Harry left the muggle park and entered the unknown territory of the streets, his disguise slipped back into place. He took no chances and therefore when he travelled through the streets of London people avoided the eyes of a tall blonde, sensing his mood as if it hung around him, instead of ducking past a green-eyed youth.

The Leaky Cauldron was it's usual self. Despite his intolerance for risks, Harry had no problem spending a lot of his time here; many foreign or unknown wizards frequented Diagon Alley, it being a hotspot of magical activity. Magical folk seemed to flock there, feeling little comfort in being around anyone but their own kind. Therefore there was no odd looks, or at least very few, when he took a seat in a shadowy corner of the pub, or when he greeted the barman with a nod of familiarity, indicating an order of the usual, showing he was no stranger to the place.

It had been odd, at first, when Harry found no-one staring at him or muttering under their breaths when he appeared, or pointing at his scar unashamedly to their friends. He had been so used to it that he had to stop himself from pausing, surprised, when his entering a room caused nothing but indifference, or least he had felt like this when he had first began using the disguising spell. After the years it had become as normal to him as when he had first lived with he Dursley's, unnoticed, not special, ordinary.

If Harry had taken a closer look he might have noticed this was not entirely true, his brooding exterior visible to even muggles, was much more prominent to the more perceptible wizard-kind, his clothes again were odd, even among wizards, a strange mixture of both world's fashions:

He wore a long brown coat, full of pockets with mysterious looking things inside them. The collar was pulled up around his face, partially obscuring it and casting his hollow eye sockets into shadow. Beneath he wore a shirt with large sleeves, the cuffs flowing visibly from beneath the sleeves of the coat. Over that he wore a waistcoat of a red so deep it appeared almost black, his Gryffindor instincts had never been truly shaken, he always smirked to himself when he thought of it, his secret joke. The costume was finished off by black trousers and dark boots.

The normal Harry Potter would never wear such subtly elegant clothes, his dress was something he could more imagine Draco Malfoy wearing, and indeed, with his blonde hair and new features he did suspiciously resemble a Malfoy. But it was for this very reason he wore such attire, no-one would ever put Harry Potter in such an outfit. His acquaintance with the barman also roused interest despite what he thought; the Leaky Cauldron attracted all sorts, so it was with vivid imaginations that curious eyes would wonder at the mysterious stranger.

Harry had scanned the room for a split second, not even stopping for a moment when his eyes fell upon one of his old school professors, the charms teacher, Flitwick, perched precariously on a stool at the bar. Another thing he had become used to over the years was the fact that the wizarding community was so closely linked, that he would always run into someone he knew, or had known once, sooner or later. The first time it had happened he had almost had a heart attack, but he was as adept at this element of disguise as the others, his eyes betrayed no flicker of recognition as, seemingly immediately to the spectator, he swept over to the dark corner and his table.

But it happened that of the few whose curiosity Harry had caught, Flitwick was one of them. Harry kicked his boots up onto the table, complacently, arrogantly, pulling a book out of his pocket and beginning to read. His demeanour was also a façade, Harry would never normally dream of doing such a thing, but his character, as he thought of him, Lysander, felt no qualms with using this kind of behaviour. There was only the dark mood and tight jaw, the shadowy, hollow eyes to indicate anything of the being beneath the mask.

His old Professor leaned across the bar to the man behind it, "Who's that then?"

The barman played dumb, fetching Harry's 'usual,' "Who's who?"

"Come on, Warner; cure an old man's curiosity, eh? The young man who just walked in, who looks like he's been through hell itself."

Anyone else, on recognising that they were the object of a conversation, could not help but have their heads instinctively snap up, as if someone had said their name. But Harry had trained himself to ignore this; instead, his response took on an odd form. A sudden twitch, a jerk of the head in the opposite direction of the bar, an outlet for the suppressed reaction. He smirked to himself at Flitwick's apt description, 'through hell itself.' But he was also annoyed it was so obvious, despite his skilled mask.

Warner sighed, "I honestly don't know. Don't get me wrong," he said quickly in reply to Flitwick's disbelieving look, "He's what you could call a regular, alright, calls himself Lysander Reubels." Harry almost felt like nodding confirmingly at this statement, encouraging the lie, but instead he stared at his page as if lost in thought.

"He appears about once every two months, stays a couple of nights and then leaves. Never meets anyone else, always alone, can't get a word out of him most of the time. He just strolls in, orders a butterbeer, and reads or stares out the window for hours." The barman whispered, clearly oblivious to how easily Harry could hear.

"A _butterbeer?_" Flitwick raised his eyebrows,

"I know, doesn't seem the type, but that's what he always orders." Harry knew Lysander would drink something stronger, more fancy and most importantly, alcoholic; but he could never shake his love of the drink, it reminded him of happier days. But now he wondered if it was the best choice, it clearly aroused Flitwick's suspicion, and seeing the old charms teacher, whilst sipping a butterbeer in a noisy pub, was just too like the Three Broomsticks at Christmas Time, too like the days at Hogwarts…

Suddenly and abruptly, breaking the illusion, slipping back into his old way of movement, Harry stood up abruptly, suddenly moving like Harry. His chair scraped back noisily as he slammed the butterbeer down and took upstairs to his booked room. Warner stared after him embarrassedly, "He must've heard us." He overcame it quickly and switched back to gossiping, "Anyway, he must be foreign, _you _don't recognise him so he never went to Hogwarts."

But Professor Flitwick was staring after the blonde figure, a glassy look in his eyes, "Just then, for a moment, do you know…he reminded me of someone…"

Harry paced his room, his bulky boots banging loudly against the dusty floorboards. He hadn't been able to help himself, the sudden memory of Hogwarts, seeming so vivid in his mind, had caused him to lose control. The turmoil of emotions he usually suppressed bubbled to the surface with new fury: rage, sorrow, guilt-yes, the guilt was the strongest, the overwhelming, all-consuming deprecation for everything about himself. The self-hatred that spilled over with a crash.

Turning mid-pace he aimed a flying kick at the bed post, a grunt of anger escaping his lips as the wood made a worrying cracking noise, and then splintered before his eyes. Suddenly, Harry was shocked at himself, he'd never lost control, but all it had taken was a nosy charm's teacher to make him start breaking up the furniture. With a sob of anguish he sat down on the creaking bed, head in hands.

What was he doing? This wasn't a life, living every waking moment as someone else, someone with big boots and blonde-hair, this wasn't him, there was no point… The words snapped him back to reality, '_no point in carrying on with something so painful._'

Those had been the words on his 'suicide note' and it brought back with cruel clarity that this life was painful, but his other life had been worse. Having to look into the eyes of Molly everyday, knowing he had taken her son from her, seeing little Teddy staring up at him, his own godfather the cause of his parent's death. The blow struck him with a harshness that left him gasping for air; it was as bad as what everyone thought Sirius had done. Ofcourse, _he_ had been innocent, loved Harry's parents more than anyone but…

Harry remembered how he had felt when he thought Sirius, his godfather, had turned James and Lilly Potter over to Voldemort: the hatred, the want for revenge. Is that how Teddy would think of him? If it was, he deserved it, he as good as murdered Lupin and Tonks, Teddy had every right to despise Harry. It would be easier, Harry thought bitterly, if he _did_ hunt me down, if eventually he did kill me, at least them maybe some of the guilt would end…

Harry realised he was curled into a ball, trying to stop the aching in his gut, his heart, every part of him. He was holding himself together at the seams. Well good, he thought acrimoniously, I deserve the pain. Indeed he welcomed it, it helped block out the memories, the images, the thoughts that dug deeper into his heart like knives. A young man with tight jaw and eyes that betrayed a person who had seen too much, suffered things that one so young should never have to endure, lay curled on a bed in the Leaky Cauldron, struggling with his existence.

**A/N: Quite angsty, I know, sorry if it's too short. Never mind, I'm having too much fun with this story! Please, lazy people who have put this on their alert list (thankyou, it is much appreciated) if you are still reading, review!**

**I need some feedback!**


	4. Flashbacks, Funerals and Reflections

A/N: So this skips a lot between different character's points of views

**A/N: So this skips a lot between different character's points of views. Sorry, I needed to have some things explained by Harry, but also have some different points of view from other characters. R&R and hope you enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: How are you not getting this by now? **

Flashbacks, Funerals and Reflections 

The sun shone through the window of the pub, streaming onto Harry's face and waking him with a groan. He rolled over, hearing a worrying _'crack.'_

"Oh no…" Sure enough, when he hoisted himself up onto his elbow his glasses lay broken next to him. He pulled his wand out of his coat, which he had slept in, and muttered the spell,

"_Reparo._" He pushed the now good-as-new spectacles onto his nose and sat up. Running his hands through hair that he now realised was jet black he renewed the disguising spell, which had worn off while he was asleep.

He stumbled groggily over to the mirror, inspecting his appearance he sighed, his eyes were plagued with dark shadows, there was stubble (albeit now blonde stubble) around his mouth and his hair was as ruffled as if there was no spell at all. In short, he looked like he had walked in off the streets, despite his nice clothes. "I'm going to need to look more respectable if I'm going to Gringotts," he muttered to his reflection. "Amen to that, dear," replied the mirror.

When he'd had a shower he pulled a container the size of a ring box from the pocket of his coat, "_Engorgio,_" he said. Stepping away from the box that he had placed on the floor, it began rapidly expanding and soon it was not a small trinket, but his travelling trunk. He pulled it open and picked out a new shirt and waistcoat, combed his hair through once, shaved and mumbled to himself, irritated, when he couldn't shift the shadows beneath his eyes.

He was glad he had not changed his physical build when he had settled upon a permanent form for the disguising spell. It would be such a pain having to carry round clothes fitting two different people, as it was, his trunk was already pretty full. It held a selection of interesting costumes for Lysander, as well as some clothes belonging to the less flamboyant Harry Potter, and some concealing hooded cloaks when he wished to be neither, the most concealing of all being, ofcourse, his invisibility cloak.

Harry remembered the words or Dumbledore, so long ago, before the War, before the death and destruction, before Harry had even met Voldemort since his parent's death:

"I don't need a cloak to become invisible." But even that voice of reason had been silenced along the years, he thought bitterly. In a way, he had adopted this statement as his philosophy, he rarely used the cloak now, preferring subtler ways of being invisible, he found being unnoticed was a much more effective way of being unseen.

He headed downstairs for breakfast, ordering eggs and bacon from Warner.

"Do you like your room, Mr Reubels?" asked Warner slyly, obviously feeling braver about talking to Harry since his conversation with Flitwick. Harry nodded in reply. "Going anywhere special?" Warner tried again, eyeing Lysander's newly shaven jaw and tidy hair, using a nonchalant tone of voice.

"Gringotts." Harry grunted again, this time warily.

Despite further efforts, this was all the man could get out of him as soon the breakfast arrived. Warner had been right the night before about his lengths of stay; he never roamed the country for more than two months before he found himself drawn back to London and the familiar streets of Diagon Alley. Like the Butter beer the idea was just too comfortable and familiar for him to abstain for long from the sight of the pub's walls. It was foolish and probably dangerous to become too well-known a face, he knew, but could not help himself.

He was snapped from his thoughts as he heard the conversation occurring between two witches on the other side of the room. "Is it happening at Godrics Hollow?" the first witch, a woman with purple hair, asked.

"Mmmm, everyone's going to attend…even the Minster of Magic and his personal assistant!" The second witch pointed at something in the newspaper she was holding, no doubt the article containing this information. Harry listened carefully, his attention caught by the mention of his once family home. He suddenly realised, horrified, what they were talking about when the purple haired-witch next spoke.

"Well that's no surprise, everyone knows Hermione Granger was a best friend of his, she would be going whether the Minster was or not."

Harry had suddenly lost his appetite. He stomped upstairs again to his room, slamming the door shut. He did however, refrain from kicking something again, the splintered bedpost a reminder of last night's loss of control. Could he go nowhere without hearing about _his_ death? _His_ funeral? _Him_? Having to face himself each morning in the mirror was hard enough, the disguising spell helped with that. But Harry's hatred for himself ran so deep that this constant idolism left him disgusted. He didn't deserve their pity, alive or dead, he didn't deserve anything…

But despite this, another feeling niggled at the back of his mind: curiosity. It was his funeral after all, not many people had the chance to witness their own memorial service first hand. He hastily pushed the feeling aside, no, it was ridiculous, far too dangerous to attempt. He pulled on his coat and left the pub, heading towards the steps of Gringotts bank.

Bill stood at the top of the bank's steps, scanning the crowd for his family. Amid the bustling of Diagon Alley he was glad, for once, that the Weasleys possessed one very distinguishing feature. And sure enough, as he craned his neck red splashes of colour appeared in the crowd, emerging to form Molly and Arthur Weasley. Next to them was the silvery blonde head of his wife, Fleur, who was looking as beautiful and elegant as always, despite the bulge of her heavily pregnant stomach.

Bill's father was clutching the Daily Prophet, an angry expression on his face; Molly was talking to him consolingly as she helped Fleur up the steps. The noise of the activity around them was so loud that Bill couldn't hear what they were saying until they were almost right next to them. "…an abomination…intrusive…shouldn't be allowed…no respect…as if we didn't have enough to deal with...as if they didn't…"

Molly looked away, an expression of pain on her face. Bill ran down the last couple of steps to meet them, interrupting his father's rant, "What's this about then?" He bent forward to kiss his mother and then his wife, who smiled quietly at him and rested a tired head on his shoulder.

"The Daily Prophet have tried to make the funeral…rather public…" explained Molly.

"I'll be damned if any reporter will barge in on it for the sake of a few cheap galleons!" Arthur added.

"Quite right, it eez a time for us to be remembering 'arry. It eez disgraceful that they want to publicize it like theez." Fleur sniffed.

Bill had read the article earlier that day and was unsurprised, the media would do anything to get their paws on stories about Harry…

Harry jumped up the steps two at a time, lost in thought. The wind made his coat fan out behind him and ruffled his blonde hair. He was so busy thinking that he did not notice the group of people infront of him before it was too late-

Bill suddenly noticed a young blonde man running up the steps, not looking where he was going-

"CRASH!"

The blonde walked straight into the group, sending most of them flying. Bill managed to catch Fleur before she fell, and Molly and Arthur soon steadied themselves. Someone was talking.

"I'm _so_ sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going, I didn't mean-I mean, is anyone hurt?" The young man sounded so apologetic that Bill couldn't be angry at him; it was, after all, an accident.

"No, no, it's fine, no harm done," muttered Arthur, as Bill stared at the strange looking youth, he must've been about twenty-two, his expensive, if slightly odd clothes showing off wealth, he had dark shadows under his eyes and looked quite twitchy. His features reminded him of someone from the Malfoy family, something that would have had Bill instantly prejudiced, but he was too polite for that.

But as Arthur spoke and turned to look at him the young man froze. His eyes grew terrified and he became silent. He acted as if they had all pulled out their wands and threatened to use an unforgivable. Slowly he began to back away.

"Are you alright dear?" Molly asked, taking in his odd reaction anxiously.

The stranger shook his head slowly, "Fine…all my fault…sorry," he barely move his lips as he murmured out the words. Suddenly, he turned and sprinted up the remaining steps, clearly trying to get away as fast as possible.

"'ow odd. 'e looked like 'e 'ad seen a ghost," commented Fleur. They shrugged to each other and carried on their conversation, little knowing it was they who were seeing the dead people.

Harry flung himself inside the building, breathing heavily. His heart thumped against his ribcage, sending signals to his brain to run. Seeing the Weasleys so suddenly, so close like that, he actually ran into them! It had sent him into a panic, he cursed himself for acting so suspiciously, all he had to do was brush himself off, apologise and walk away, but no, he had gone and acted like a startled deer!

People were beginning to look at him oddly, he scolded himself again for losing the mask, for letting his disguise slip, even if just for a second it was unforgivable and he had let it happen in front of the people who knew him most…He remembered Molly's words, she could have been saying them at the Burrow over dinner, the tones of Celestina Warbeck playing in the background: _Are you alright, dear? _He straightened up, pushing the painful idea away as he did so, and strode over to a counter.

A couple of months before he had disappeared, Harry set up a new account at Gringotts under the name he had picked, Lysander Reubels. He had been theorising about how he would do it for a while and it was now he decided to finally take action. A letter sent by owl had requested that monthly payments be made into Lysander Reubels vault from the account of Harry Potter, a transaction he knew would continue even after he had disappeared. Now it was merely a question of handing Lysander's key to a goblin and taking as much of Harry's money out of the bank as he wanted.

Gringotts was always discreet, you could give them that, and Harry doubted there was anyone but those who did the transacting themselves that knew about this arrangement. It would certainly be impossible for anyone but the owner of the account to know about it outside the bank.

Still, Harry always shuddered at the thought of what the Goblin's would do if they found out that Lysander Reubel's was infact Harry Potter and he had been making frequent visits to the bank all these years. You see, the Goblin's hadn't taken kindly to having their precious bank infiltrated by a young wizard just out of school, even if it was to defeat Voldemort, who, coincidentally was the only other wizard to have made it in out of Gringotts as a thief, alive.

He knew Bill had gotten grief for the fact that his own brother had been deeply involved in the thievery, but everyone saw (and rather unfairly on Ron and Hermione's part) Harry as the main implementer of their plan. Similarly, it was also deeply insulting to the Goblin's that he had stolen the goblet from the vault in exchange for something that was rightfully theirs anyway. Yes, the Goblin's held grudges for a very long time, and Harry was right to worry about what they'd do if they caught him trying to sneak into the bank again as someone else.

He handed the key silently to the goblin at the desk, but this was hardly surprising, anyone who had met with Lysander Reubels would find him unforthcoming. It was not long before he was shovelling some gold into his coat pocket and was on his way. He cautiously poked his head out between the doors, scanning the crowd first. But when he saw no sign of the Weasleys he descended the steps, heading back to the Leaky Cauldron and his solitude.

**A/N: This was a long chapter, I know, I don't feel like it's one of my strongest. I want to make this story as plausible as possible so I'm going to try and explore the psychological effects on the characters a bit more. R&R and read the next chapter! **


	5. Gatherings, Godfathers and Testaments

**A/N: Argh! I was going to put this chapter on last night but-shock horror-the real world had different ideas and just as I was adding this there was a power cut! Stupid, useless real-world electrical service...can't help thinking they would not of had this problem at hogwarts! Never mind, it was a good excuse to eat ice-cream and re-read Order of the Phoenix by candlelight!**

** So this chapter turned out really differently to how I meant it. Originally it was just something to make the plot happen but it turned into a chapter about Ginny's side of things, I like it. R&R please. Oh yeah, and again a special thankyou to Tx-Dancegirl-9657 for the ongoing comments on the chapters, great help & v. encouraging, if only everyone was as willing to review as her sigh (that was a rather unsubtle hint by the way!) Anyhoo...**

**Disclaimer: Um…the same as the past four chapters!**

Gatherings, Godfathers and Last Testaments

The Burrow's small kitchen was packed again. Ron, as usual, found himself in charge. A strange side effect of having a job where you are responsible for a lot of people, is that instinctively and out of habit in a situation where chaos could reign you try to take control. To Ron's surprise and bemusement, no-one had tried to stop him, so now he found himself at the head of the table for almost every family meeting.

The mood was far more sombre than usual, however. Ron sighed, the task ahead of him was not going to be easy and it would only darken everyone's spirits further. Hermione, on hearing his sigh, went to sit by him, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

It was strange how their dynamic had changed over the past few years, when Ron had become capable of doing so she had taken the 'backseat' in their relationship and allowed him to try 'driving' by himself for a while. Her personality was still dominating, fiery and challenging, that was why he loved her, but now she was also the rock, as if she had been waiting for the moment all along, now she was here to support _him. _

"Now that Harry has been declared legally dead, something has to be done about his things, his gold at Gringotts and Twelve Grimmauld Place."

They all looked at him silently. He looked back, taking in their faces. All the Weasleys were there: Arthur, Molly, George, Charlie, Percy, Bill, Fleur-who was now, technically and in spirit, a Weasley- and Ginny, cradling little Teddy Lupin in her lap, who was bouncing obliviously. Neville Longbottom was there; along with Luna Lovegood, they had also seemed to become part of the family along the line.

Some things had to be done with certain people, even if they weren't specifically needed. Some people were so part of something, so wrapped and knitted into the fabric of a life, an event…a person, that despite technical necessity, they had to be there, is was almost impossible for them not to be. Ron cleared his throat.

"Harry did not write a will," _Ofcourse he didn't,_ Ron thought, _he was too young, but Merlin knows, he came up against death enough times, he risked his life enough to have one. It's ironic isn't it, he escaped it all those times only to end up wanting it, only to end up…_

Ron started again, he was dwelling too much, he needed to get this over and done with. "Harry did not have a will, so law states that all his property should go to his next wizard relative but…all his relatives are dead so, well, I looked it up, and the person with the most legitimate claim, according to wizarding law…is Teddy." They all looked at the little four-year-old in Ginny's lap, he looked back at them with large hazel eyes, which quickly, thanks to his mother's genes, turned blue, along with his hair.

He grinned, unaware of the situation apart from the fact that he seemed very important in it. "What? What do I get?" he asked, still smiling. Ron addressed Teddy but spoke for the benefit of them all:

"Harry was you're godfather Teddy, which means, now that he's…gone," Ron struggled to stop his voice from cracking, "when you become old enough, everything he owned, goes to you."

Teddy eyes grew grey and large, the colour in his hair fading to a dull black, his four-year-old mind registered that people were upset, and he didn't know why, and it made him sad also. His lip began to tremble, and a sudden and uncharacteristic shyness came over him as he realised all twelve sets of eyes were on him, he buried his face in Ginny's neck. She patted his head, a mournful look in her eyes.

"But, Ginny, as his guardian, you would be in charge of it until he comes of age…" Ron continued, she looked at him, a trace of reality coming back to her. "Oh, that's okay; do I need to sign anything?" she responded quietly, well, she responded, that was something at least. Percy smiled encouragingly at her and began rummaging in his bag. "Actually, I have the forms right here…" he pulled out some thick sheets of parchment.

As if by some unspoken agreement the crowd dispersed, leaving Ginny some space as Percy explained to her the official forms. She set Teddy down on the ground, who, now that the concentrated cloud of sorrow had evaporated around the kitchen, perked up considerably and went to chase gnomes in the garden, his hair turning an unusual shade of pink as he did so.

Ginny knew she was distant and had become more so recently, but everywhere she turned Harry was being mentioned, and it forced her to delve deeper into memories of him, whether through will or not. She knew she would never truly let him go, but it had been getting easier, when she had adopted Teddy, it was like she was accepting that all she would have was memories of him now.

Teddy was, in some strange way, her legitimate claim to Harry, they had loved each other, but the War had taken up their lives and after that Harry's depression had left him in too dark place for her to get through. So on paper, all they had ever been to each other were girlfriend and boyfriend for a brief, few weeks, five years ago.

But if Harry was still there, he would have been Teddy's guardian as his godfather, Teddy would have belonged to him, so adopting the small, lively boy she loved so much was her way of keeping hold of Harry. They had been more to each other than it looked on paper, they had been in love, she was sure of it, but every now and then this sureness slipped away, and she wondered if it was ever true.

Teddy was her light, her guidance in the tunnel of overwhelming uncertainty and despair, he would have been Harry's and now he was her's, that was all the proof and assurance she needed. She signed the last form and, after a hug from Percy, went to sit in the garden to watch her light play, letting those memories she had left come to mind…

_Four Years Ago _

_They sat in silence around the kitchen table, most of them sipping cups of tea or coffee. It had been months since they had dragged a struggling and cursing Harry to the Burrow, hoping that getting him away from being alone, from lying in the empty house of Grimmauld Place, where memories of the order and Sirius hung like dark clouds, would help shift his continual despair. _

_But to no avail, slowly, despite all their best efforts, they saw Harry slip deeper and deeper into oblivion. It was no use; the dark recesses of his mind that he had retreated to now had too firm a hold on him. Just as he had in his own house, he now lay in his room at the Burrow for hours without moving, staring at the wall. He rarely left it anymore. _

_But here there were people to witness his desolation, spectators to the slow fading away of the person they all loved. With him part of their hearts were being broken, because there was nothing they could do, no matter how hard they tried… _

"_I can't take this any more!" Ginny stood up, breaking the silence that had enveloped them all, they turned to stare at her, startled, "We sit here, doing nothing, NOTHING, whilst he wastes away up there, not listening to anything we say, acting as if we don't exist!" She turned and stalked up the stairs, pained determination burning in her heart._

_She flung the door to his room open, he barely flinched, and she couldn't help herself but to hesitate, fleetingly, to register the small stab of hurt she felt when she saw him in the position he always was, the position she knew he would be, staring at the wall mindlessly. _

"_Stop this!" she yelled into his face, tears streaming down her own, "Snap out of this-this thing you've become!" He lowered his head, clenching a fist that shook fractionally, this only enraged her more, of all the time she'd spent trying to get a reaction from him, this tiny movement was all he could muster. "Answer me, goddammit!" she sobbed through her tears, and slapped him hard across the face. _

_Nothing, no reaction, just the dull staring emerald eyes and a quivering fist. _

"_You stupid, stupid bastard!" it was not just her voice, but her whole body that shook as she pushed her way out of the room, unable to look at the shell of the man she loved. Downstairs, they sat around the table in silence, hearing the grief-ridden sobs of Ginny from her room, and listening for the reaction from Harry they knew would never come. _

_That was the night he killed himself, of all the weeks spent in his room when he had disappeared it had caused utter panic. The only witness to his death was an old lady who had said she'd seen someone matching his description pacing a bridge in the early hours of morning. Ginny had remembered her words: I can't take this anymore, well according to his suicide note, apparently neither could Harry. _

Ginny snapped out of her reverie, she had not meant that memory to swim back into her mind with such clarity, and the pain of it was unbelievable. Hermione found her in the garden, tears dripping into her lap. They sat and held each other, remembering the days when Harry could have been seen chasing the garden gnomes, as Teddy was now, when a cold autumn wind howled above them.

**A/N: Thanks to all of you who have already reviewed and any constructive criticism would be welcomed, you know, if there is anything I've gotten wrong, or that doesn't tie in with the books then let me know. :) **


	6. Midnight, motives and the Knight Bus

**A/N: I don't what happened with this chapter, it turned into a total depression fest at the beginning! But don't worry, things will perk up and start happening soon. I know it's quite slow at the moment but I didn't want it to seem like he's been in hiding for four years with no events and then everything starts happening at once, y'know? Anyway, R&R :) Thanks. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these character's…just…erm…mess with them…Mwahaha! Don't sue:D**

Midnight, Motives and the Knight Bus 

Harry could not sleep. Dreams were troubling him again, dreams of flashes of green light, high cruel laughs, and the faces of dead people. Harry's scar had not troubled him since Voldemort's death, but his memory still lingered in Harry's thoughts, the nightmare shadow that had loomed over his life, even when he was unaware of it, for eighteen years, even after death the nightmare lived on.

He had been at Diagon Alley too long; he never usually spent this much time lingering there. He had been around people too long as well; their sense of normalcy, of everyday life was becoming overwhelming. For Harry it was stifling, he could not stand the structure of the typical day that swelled everywhere where there was lots of people. He did not even know if this made sense or not. He only knew that after everything that had happened, the death and destruction, the brink that he had inevitably tumbled over, he could not watch people living out their lives. He loathed the way he could sit at breakfast, go to the shops, probably even chat with the barman; it was just wrong.

There should be weeping and shouting or just…something. Yet instead, when you turned to find these things, when you turned inside yourself to find these things, there was just nothingness, a void that could not be filled, that you fell into without realising. It left you doing the things of everyday life with an insistence that had no reaction, that provoked no emotion and you hated yourself for being able to do them, you wanted the emotions and the pain and the sorrow and the grief, something other than the eternal emptiness.

But the emptiness was self-preservation, it stopped you from feeling anything because it knew if you did, if the blow of emotion should come down on you in one momentous wave then it would be too much and you would be unable to cope. So he tried to avoid the sense of everyday life as much as possible, because the lack of weeping and shouting, of reaction and emotion, were all the more prominent in the land of normality.

But he needed to go. He had been there long enough. It was time to slip back into anonymous identity and surroundings. Even being known as Lysander Reubel's had become too much, the knowledge of having a personality, a life, or at least the appearance of it, in other people's eyes was becoming to heavy a burden. He wanted to just be. Not to think, not to feel, not to remember…

The air of the Leaky Cauldron was warm and heady, candles gleaming as soft murmuring conversations were held over alcohol and a warm fire. The flickering lights provided perfect shadow as a young man stole through them, pausing to drop a bag of money for his room with a heavy clink on the counter, only to disappear into the night.

The autumn air was cold and stinging outside. Harry pulled his collar up, shivering, yet immediately feeling lighter now he was not so close to people. He was darkness now, one with the midnight silence, a nonentity that did not have to pretend to be human, because he had lost his humanity long ago.

He wandered the streets for a while, realising, when it had far passed midnight, that it was time to go. He had enjoyed it, those few brief hours when he had been nothing, when he had not had to keep up the illusion of someone with a shred of hope, to appear to be someone who had a reason for living. It was nice not to feel, because there was nothing to feel, and to accept it without question.

He pulled out his wand, standing on a kerb with his breath misting in front of him, and threw his arm out over the road. There was a deafening BANG, a sudden blinding light and a triple deckered, violently purple bus appeared out of thin air.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the-" the conductor began,

"Save me the introduction." Harry growled, shoved eleven sickles into the bewildered youth's hand and swept past him. "Evening Ernie," he muttered to the elderly wizard driver, Ernie Prang, who blinked at him from behind thick glasses.

"Forest of Dean, if you don't mind, and take your time." Harry ordered, as he ascended the twisted metal steps to the second level, he was too tired to have flown anywhere that night; the Knight Bus was the second best thing. He kicked off his boots; found a bed and blew the candle in the bracket beside it out, hoping no dreams would find him.

He woke to the sounds of footsteps shuffling past his bed. He opened his eyes groggily, just quick enough to catch a glimpse of an old witch shuffling past in her dressing gown, he peered through his messy fringe at the rest of the beds, they were empty. It was then that he realised his fringe was jet black.

Swearing under his breath he fumbled for his wand. Ofcourse the disguising spell had worn off, it always did when you fell asleep, he'd just been too tired to remember to put on a travelling cloak to hide his face. What if someone had seen him? What if that old witch had recognised his face, glanced in his direction for just a moment and realised she was looking at the sleeping form of Harry Potter, who was supposed to be dead?

It would have been all too easy. One look and he would be discovered. How could he be so stupid to let something so simple almost be the cause of his detection? He swore at himself, scolding his carelessness whilst the blonde hair replaced his own. He shuddered at the thought that anyone could have walked past and seen him whilst he slept.

He heaved himself up from his bed and slipped his feet into his boots just as the Knight Bus took a sharp left with a loud BANG, throwing Harry off the side of his bed. He swore again and pulled him self up from the floor, his arm was definitely going to be bruised, how had he slept through this? He asked himself as there was another loud BANG, and he almost ended up on the floor again. He sat back down, holding onto the bed post as the Knight Bus' progress shook him from side to side.

The night he disappeared was still vivid in his mind. It had been Ginny who had finally swayed him; despite the pain it caused to admit it he knew that she had every right to hate him. Look at what he had done to her family. He loved her, and always would, but he had no reason but his own selfishness to hang on any more, to try living a life when all he did was cause others pain.

He had spent hours that morning pacing a bridge, deciding whether to actually make true his own lie. But he couldn't do it. Cowardice, most likely, but he did not want to examine that inner struggle to closely in case that was what he found. Instead he had gone out and gotten stinking drunk with…formidable consequences. It was only a couple of months later that he realised drowning himself in Firewhiskey until he was comatose would probably have him dead soon anyway.

The first time on this bus he'd been 'on the run from the law,' in fact he'd blown up his aunt and was wondering what life as an outcast would be like. He had already been planning, he would have gone to Gringotts, taken out all the gold from his vault and started his new life as an exile. Harry shook his head; it was odd how close this ridiculous teenage panic had been to the truth. If only the prospect of going to Azkaban for a bit of accidental Underage Wizardry were the worst of his problems now.

Light was dawning outside as the bus bowled down another street, objects jumping out the way (Ernie still hadn't seemed to perfect the art of using a steering wheel) as Harry sat in silence, the snores of wizards and witches drifting up from the beds of the floor below.

**A/N: Yeah so, this is pretty much all about Harry's issues, but I kind of wanted to show how deep the emotional trauma went and to pave the way for some great action later on even though I don't particularly like this chapter…also 'formidable consequences' is a bit of private joke between me and my sister that will come up later on! **

**Next chapter is coming as soon as possible, they're coming thick and fast at the moment thanks to Easter holidays but they might come less regularly if this story carries on till then! **


	7. Descisions, Letters and Miles Away

**A/N: A chapter that nothing really kind of happens in (Like the one before it!) but kind of essential to my half-formed changes-every-moment plot. Next chapter is going to totally ROCK by the way…just because lots of stuff happens. Thanks for all the reviews. Please R&R. **

**Disclaimer: You know the drill folks!**

Decisions, Letters and Miles Away

Harry sat inside a tent, sipping coffee he had bought from a nearby town. The sun bathed the area outside in a cool green light as it shone through the trees; despite this the air hung damp and cold, dew making the grass of the forest thick and wet. He was reading the newspaper again, though he didn't know why, it only served in agitating him or causing unneeded reminders of the pain that throbbed at his core.

Sure enough, when he had woken up that morning to the sounds of birds and the sun casting a glow through the tent walls, he found a bruise on his arm from his night spent on the bus. He reminded himself not to get so tired again that he'd have to travel on _that_ again anytime soon; his broom was far more comfortable, even in the cold autumn weather.

The Daily Prophet in his hands happened to be of the issue that the witches in the Leaky Cauldron had been reading, he almost choked and sprayed hot coffee over the inside of the tent when he unexpectedly found the article on his funeral. "_Everywhere I go!" _he muttered through gritted teeth, sick and tired of the media attention that apparently found him even in death. He scanned the article quickly and irritably, pausing suddenly at the date in which lay an unanticipated reality.

_So soon? _He thought, it was to be held next week, the last week of the month. But the suddenness and _finality _of it caught Harry off guard, he had not expected it to feel so…he could only describe as feeling as if he had lost a friend, and the curious voice in his mind told him to mourn that loss. _After all, _that treacherous little voice wheedled, _after this there's no going back, it truly is the end of your past life, and don't you think it deserves a goodbye? _

Harry threw the paper down on the table, narrowly missing his mug. "No. I can't go just out of some foolish fancy, my own stupid whims, it's not worth it." He said to himself, striding out of the tent as if to escape the voice. _Isn't it? It would be easy, you could just sit at the back, it'll be crowded no-one will notice you, you can leave whenever you want, not every situation is as fraught with peril as you'd like to believe…This way it will be easier to accept it, that you will never go back… _

"Shut up!" Harry stared into the forest, breathing heavily and realising that if he was conversing with voices inside his head, it was probably best to make a decision before he lost any shred of sanity he had left all together. In the green forest under the cold sun, Harry began to feel his resolve weaken.

_Miles away _

The Burrow was pretty much the meeting place of all those close friends who had gone through the war together. It was second home to more and more people everyday, hardly a week went by when Bill and Fleur weren't visiting from Shell Cottage, George wasn't trying to find new testers for his joke shop, Percy, Hermione, Neville and Luna dropped in from a day's hard work at the ministry, Hogwarts or editing the Quibbler. So it was no surprise to be sitting looking at the family clock when someone waddled past with a heavy pregnancy, pile of paperwork or some suspicious looking new inventions, who wasn't actually a resident there.

Currently Hermione was helping Ginny dig out some old robes the attic, avoiding the ghoul that still harboured the habit of wearing Ron's pyjamas, as Fleur sat bulging and maternal in a chair, watching and apologising for her inability to help.

"It's really fine, Fleur," said Hermione exasperatedly as she pulled aside a dusty mirror and found yet another box of various assorted muggle electrics that Arthur had accumulated over the years. "I have half a mind to just introduce your father to my parents already! Merlin knows it's better than him collecting all this rubbish."

Ginny made a noise of agreement, "I think you'd be doing us all a favour, mind you, once he got into their house he'd never leave-do you really want to do that to your parents?"

"'Ermione ees right, better than theese mess!" commented Fleur, pulling a remote control from beneath her, glancing at it curiously then throwing it aside.

There were creaks on the ladder and Molly Weasley appeared, Teddy squirming in her arms, "This just came for you Ginny dear, quite an official looking owl and it has the Gringotts insignia on it."

"Thanks mum," muttered Ginny, leaning across some boxes to take the proffered envelope, Molly turned to Fleur, "I've been having some thoughts about the nursery…"

"I'll come down," sighed the part-veela, heaving herself up and following Molly's head slowly and cautiously down the ladder, "You really shouldn't be climbing up and down ladders at this stage you know." Molly's voice drifted up to the attic followed by, "Grandma Weasley-put me down!" the whining voice of the four-year-old.

But this went unheard by Ginny, who had opened the letter and was staring at it,

"What is it?" Hermione asked worriedly at the sudden change in Ginny's expression.

"It's from Gringotts, 'in regard to Mr Harry Potter's vault'" she quoted from the thick, official-looking letter, understanding dawned on Hermione's face. "Because it's all Teddy's now, and you're his guardian. I expect they just want to clear a few things up, you know, legal things and such," offered Hermione.

Ginny had gone quite quiet, "They've given me all the details of it-everything."

"Well, I suppose they give you the benefit of the doubt, you are responsible for it until Teddy comes of age, after all." Ginny handed the letter over to Hermione to read and went to sit down. "I guess it's just a bit of shock, his things actually being Teddy's now…" she explained.

Hermione made a low whistling noise from between her teeth, quite uncharacteristically, a habit she had probably picked up from Ron, "Have you seen the balance? I mean, I knew Harry was well off but…" Hermione suddenly snapped out of it, seeing Ginny's expression. What had she been thinking? Ginny didn't care about the balance, she had been horribly untactful, Hermione had _definitely _been picking up some things from Ron.

"I'm so sorry, that was completely insensitive…"

"No, no, it's fine," Ginny gave a wan smile, "I'm over it now, no reason to make a fuss about nothing, does it say anything else?"

Hermione scanned the letter, "Most of it's just common sense really, Teddy's not allowed to touch the money until he come of age, there's a list of-" Hermione cut short, staring hard at the letter with a puzzled look on her face. Ginny looked up, attention caught by her sudden stop.

"What?"

"Well, there's a list here, of-of any activity of the account recently, just to keep you updated I expect but-well…"

Ginny grew impatient, "Come on, what is it?"

"Well, for the last two years at least, there have been monthly transactions to the vault of someone called…Lysander Reubels."

"Why would…I've never even heard of a Lysander Reubels!"

Hermione and Ginny looked at each other, "Well, the transaction could only have been set up by Harry before-he-he died, so it's clearly been going on for over four years," Hermione said thoughtfully, ignoring the way she had stumbled over the sentence.

"You don't have, I don't know, _fraud_in the wizarding world do you?" she asked sceptically.

"Gringotts is so secure, I don't see how. I mean, they actually carry the gold from vault to vault under guard."

"Well no, it can't be that then, this must be someone Harry knew, but why would he be giving them gold?"

"Maybe we should ask Ron, he might have some ideas."

Ron listened to their story with a strange mixture of suspicion, animated curiosity and interest and worry. That's excluding the wince of inner pain you saw cross his face whenever Harry was mentioned. "Let's look at the possibilities," he slipped automatically into auror mode. "Harry could've been friends with him."

"But why in the world would he never have mentioned him?" wondered Hermione, biting her lip worriedly, "You know he wasn't in contact with anyone before-before-" she took a deep breath again, it was harder to say than Voldemort's name, "before his death, he didn't ever leave the house!"

"Maybe…he's a relative…" Ginny looked at her hands and spoke quietly, pensive again,

"An unknown relative? Like what? His dad's uncle's cousin or something? Surely they would have to check that out before they decided all his belongings went to Teddy? The Ministry's very exact about stuff like that, nasty business a while back about Goblin property you see." This remark showed just how much Ron had grown over the years, he had commented on something Hermione didn't know for one thing.

"You don't think…" Hermione hesitated, reluctant to say it, "you don't think Harry was…in debt or anything?" They looked at each other uncomfortably, not really believing it could be a real possibility, Harry wasn't the kind of person who got into debt, if anything George was the gambler of them , and all he'd ever done was get into some trouble over some Leprechaun gold during school.

At this thought a possibility occurred to Ron, "You know how Harry gave his winnings of the Triwizard Tournament to finance the joke shop?" he did not need to elaborate, they all knew which joke shop he meant, just the day before George had asked if anyone had seen a box of fireworks lying around apparently a new product and a worrying prospect for the others.

"Go on," urged Ginny,

"Maybe it's something like that."

They looked at each hopefully, the idea that he was financing a business opportunity was certainly a lot more comforting than the thought of Harry being mixed up in something or having a relative they'd never heard of. They could feel the awful timing of it, the funeral not weeks away and this black cloud seemed to be rolling over his memory.

"I'll talk to Percy and Bill about it," suggested Ron. He knew that subconsciously, he wanted the funeral to finally tuck away every into a neat tidy finish. It was an impossible desire, when he knew that life didn't work that way, that you couldn't just let go of someone like that. Harry would always be with all of them, even if it would be easier to forget and not be reminded of him daily, was that what he really wanted?

No, even without this sudden mystery that dragged everything back into a painfully bright light, he wouldn't want that. Ron couldn't help but mull things over like this, staring into the distance, miles away from reality.

**Schuikichiro****: Yeah, I have considered this, (I know it s a big flaw in the story) but Ginny does kind of point out that they're not doing anything. Their big attempt to shift his depression was kind of to take him to the burrow and get him to snap out of it, it might not seem like much but, hey, you try dragging your friend from their house against their will and see if it's easy! **

**I wasn't really sure if I could put a psychiatrist in there because I don't know if there are wizard psychiatrists, and in world where there aren't stitches (book 5) can you blame me for being unsure? **

**I know it's not perfect, but I'm trying, also realised some other fatal flaws in the plausibility of this plot, I have thought of reasons for them but they're not explained in the fic! I won't point them out in the hope you don't notice:)**

**Wow, I blabber on a lot, but I like to talk about my train of though, sorry!**


	8. Discoveries, Darkness and Eulogies

**A/N: Whoop! I had so much fun writing this chapter as it ushers in the main action of this fan fic! Thanks for staying with it this far I know it's been quite slow lately but all will now be revealed, (and I mean that in more ways than one) anyway, 8****th**** chapter up!**

**Disclaimer: What? You're looking for the rights to Harry Potter? I'm sorry, you must be mistaken, I don't have them. In fact, I've never seen them. Yes, I'm sorry you wasted you're time. This? On my computer screen?…oh…erm…that's nothing! No, I don't see any Harry Potter related stories on there…MERLIN'S BEARD! What's that over there? Yes, over there, where I'm pointing just-**_**runs towards the door laughing manically.**_

Discovery, Darkness and Eulogies 

Everyone in the Burrow was wearing black, or almost. Molly was still trying to wrestle Teddy into a set of robes with Ginny's help when Bill apparated with a _crack_ into the kitchen. Ron was talking to Hermione by the radio in the hushed tones that everyone seemed to need to use at any time during, preceding, or just after a funeral.

"Ron, a word if you don't mind," Bill addressed his youngest brother in a mutter as he brushed past, Ron looked up, surprised, and followed him into the living-room dragging Hermione with him. "It's about this Lysander guy," Bill started but Ron held up his hand,

"I'll get Ginny."

"Do you really think she needs to hear it? What with everything else isn't it just going to make things worse for her?" Ron considered this for a moment,

"She deserves to know, she would want to."

He went back to the kitchen, "Ginny, can we talk to you?" Ginny looked round from trying to hold Teddy's arms still while Molly tugged, "Oh, sure, are you alright here Mum?" Molly nodded.

"So, what's this about?"

"Lysander Reubels," Hermione explained.

"Percy couldn't find anything about him, which is odd in itself, the ministry always has _some_ sought of information about a witch or wizard, Percy's stumped, he's never come up on a blank before," Bill looked at them, they were listening intently,

"So I ask some questions at the bank, I'd never heard of this guy before but a goblin that works there told me he comes in quite regularly, about once every two months, and he told me what he looks like," he paused.

"And?" asked Hermione eagerly,

"Well, I've already seen him."

"What?" Ron frowned, "You mean Lysander?"

"Yes, a man bumped into us when I met Fleur and Mum and Dad at Gringotts a couple of weeks ago, quite a distinctive looking guy and he acted really strange when he saw us too."

"But how could you know for sure-"

Bill licked his lips, "The thing is, the guy matched exactly the description this Goblin gave me, so I looked up that last time Lysander Reubels took money out of his vault, it was the day the guy bumped into us, it must've have been him, he's too strange looking for it to be coincidence."

"Strange looking how?" asked Hermione warily,

Bill gave them a brief description of the blonde with the odd but expensive clothes. "But that still doesn't tell us what his connection to Harry is," Ginny pointed out.

"It's all really suspicious…"

"Yeah, you should've seen the way he acted when he bumped into us; he looked at us like we had three heads or something."

Just then Molly bustled into the room, "It's time to go dears," she said quietly, now her practical qualities couldn't be put to good use she was forced to dwell on the service ahead. It was the same for all of them, they could wonder about the mysterious stranger all they wanted, but they had to get through the funeral first. Hermione gave Ginny a supportive hug, which she returned gratefully, and they all trudged out of the Burrow.

Godrics Hollow lay under a grey and swirling sky; leaves long withered and fallen from trees were drawn by the wind around the square as a figure hurried across it. It did not stop to glance at the old War Memorial that hid something else, nor at the scenery surrounding it that brought back memories of a dark night with Hermione.

When he had finally caved in to the treacherous voice at the not-so-back of his mind he had become resolute, there was no going back now, he told himself, pulling on a hooded cloak and making sure the disguising spell was firmly in place. But it was this resolution he now felt dissolving as he approached the church, he could see wizards and witches entering in black robes, heads bowed, the quiet shuffling of feet and murmured conversations.

Was this really the right thing to do? Had he gone too far in convincing himself that this was his time to saying goodbye? Or was this just a desperate attempt to hold on to the life he knew could no longer be his, an attempt that would only end up hurting him more? He hesitated, but if he turned around and walked off now he would feel as if he had failed. Clutching his cloak around him, head bowed, he walked through the gates and the sturdy wooden door of the church before settling quietly at the very back, in a small, shadowed pew.

He glanced around furtively at the people who had turned up to remember him. The church had a heavy, ancient feeling about it, made more prominent by the whisperings of those occupying it. He tried hard not to look at the front pew, where he knew a row of fiery heads would sit. The church was packed, many of the occupants were people he had known from school, he was sure almost his entire old Gryffindor house was there, and most of the Hogwarts teachers too.

Harry felt completely disconnected as he watched the scene unfold before him. He supposed this was another form of self-preservation, as everything seemed detached, as if he was watching it on television. As the people of his life walked past, and quite a few he had never met too, he could only seem to muster a faint sense of curiosity and unease.

He was pulled out of his reverie by an usher leaning across the pew before him. "Excuse me sir, but could you take another seat? This pew is going to be needed for the ushers." Harry muttered in growl "I don't think so." And gave the poor man such a venomous look that he immediately backed away, "Fine." Harry heard him say under his breath, "You're funeral," this kind of horribly cliché irony was already lost on Harry as the service began.

But the unease had been growing without notice, and as the priest stood up to begin it took a rapid lurch up the scale. This was wrong, this was not right. He could feel it seeping through his every pore, his stared hard at his shoes again, trying to block out the words, the scene, everything. What had he been thinking coming here? He noticed Flitwick, his tiny balding head barely reaching over the top of a pew a few in front of him, and took this as yet another reason to add to his mounting discomfort. If the charms teacher saw him what would he think about the mysterious Lysander Reubels appearing at Harry Potter's funeral?

He knew he had to leave.

Bill scanned the rows behind him, seeing if they were almost ready to begin, and froze.

"That's him!" he whispered to Ron, who was staring resolutely ahead of him, seemingly trying to ignore his location. This however made him jump back to reality.

"What?"

"Lysander Reubels is currently sitting at the back of the church," said Bill quietly, "I'd recognise him anywhere." Ron and Hermione, who had also heard this remark stared at him, Ron rather untactfully swivelled round, craning his neck. "Where?" he whispered frantically.

"The blonde guy about your age, wearing a cloak, haunted look."

"I see him!" Hermione said excitedly as Ron caught sight of him also.

"What is he doing here?"

"Coming to pay his respects to Harry, clearly, whatever his connection to him."

"But this is our chance to find out!"

"We'll have to wait until the end of the service." With this remark from Hermione Ron was returned from his excitement. It was too easy to get caught up in his curiosity, especially when it helped you forget where you were, and your painful situation. He slumped back into his silent staring after muttering to himself, "First thing, though, we have to talk to him…"

But he could not help himself keep glancing back at the stranger. He did it so many times that he worked out if he turned his head, as if examining the pillar beside him; he could see the figure of Lysander Reubels just out of the corner of his eye. And something was wrong.

Harry's agitation had reached it's peak. He was staring determinedly at the ground, the ceiling, his hands, anything but the scene around him. He did not hear the priest's words, nor did under any circumstances want to. His shifted in his seat, feeling a sweat of apprehension break out over him. He glanced at the doors; no-one would notice if he slipped out now, would they? He could be gone without anyone noticing to the freedom of the forest where his tent still sat. Hagrid suddenly gave a loud howl of sorrow from a couple of pews down, his face buried in a large handkerchief. This was more than Harry could take.

He got up to go to the door.

Ron saw the young man's disquiet grow quickly. It seemed as if the funeral was becoming some kind of unbearable torture. Why would the service have such an effect on him? Which brought Ron back to the question, what was his connection with Harry? People were beginning to get upset now; Ron looked down the pew to see Molly sobbing loudly, Arthur comforting her. Hermione was trying to wipe her eyes with a shaking hand, and Ginny was sitting with Teddy, a silent trickle of tears falling.

He knew he should be comforting Hermione, he reached out a hand to lay on her shoulder but turned instead to glance at the blonde again, his agitation becoming more pronounced by the second. What was wrong with him? Why could he not let this obsession go? Instead of mourning Harry he could only feel a small sense of hope amid his burning curiosity.

Ah, hope, so that was it. This was connected with his stubbornness to let Harry go. He seemed to subconsciously believe that this Lysander was some kind of miracle sent to halt the inevitable. _He's not coming back. _He told himself, but the burning curiosity still reigned. He turned his head, trying to see the man again, only to catch a glimpse of him getting up to leave.

_No._

This was what he internally shouted. Obsessive or not. Deluded or otherwise. The need to find out the truth was still there. On an impulsive, uncontrollable body movement, Ron stood up and left the pew in as unobtrusive way as possible, ignoring the looks of sympathy from the rest of the occupants of the church, and striding as quickly as possible down the middle aisle towards the door. He broke out into a run a few feet from it.

Hermione looked frantically at Bill, worry clouding her eyes as Ron disappeared through the door. Bill nodded to her, got up equally inconspicuously and followed him.

Outside Harry did not feel at all relieved. The anxiety was still mounting within him as he hurried through the gates of the church.

"Hey! You!"

Harry spun around, his cloak swirling like a fallen autumn leaf beneath the grey sky as he saw Ron Weasley hurrying after him. Terror struck Harry like a sledgehammer; he whirled back around and began sprinting as fast as he could.

Ron stared on in disbelief; there was something wrong about that guy. Why the hell would he run? But the look of absolute terror on his face had been enough to convince Ron that he had something to hide. He set off after the man who called himself Lysander. Ignoring Bill calling his name as he, too, emerged from the church.

"Ron! Come back! What are you doing?" With an exasperated grunt he began following the two figures running away from him.

Lysander sped across the square, his cloak fanning out behind him but Ron was close on his heels. The cloaked man suddenly took a right, clearly frantic with desperation. He was met with a dead end alley. His breath came in heavy gasps as he turned to face the red-haired wizard. Ron could see the man's face shining with sweat, his hollow eyes staring out from beneath the fringe of blonde hair.

"I just want to talk to you," said Ron sternly, on seeing the panicked look on the other wizard's face he was sure he was about to do something rash. Sure enough, he whipped out his wand, pointing it with shaking fingers at Ron just as Bill reached the end of the alley.

"You don't need to do this…" said Ron calmly, using his auror skills, Bill ran up with his wand out.

"You see, you can't do anything to one of us without the other hexing you, put you're wand down, we're not going to hurt you, we just want to ask you some questions."

"Please," said the man with such pain in his voice that Ron stared, "Just let me go." But when Ron and Bill did not budge he raised his wand, "EX-"

"STUPEFY!" Bill and Ron hit him simultaneously with the same curse.

Harry did not know what he had planned to do with his wand. All he could feel was the mixture of panic, fear and pain roaring inside him. Seemingly unable to control his arm he lifted his wand; not knowing what he was doing, and began to yell a disarming spell. But Ron and Bill were too quick, he felt a stab of pain, something pound against his chest, and then he slumped to the floor, a cloud of darkness enveloping him.

**A/N: Mwhahaha! A cliff-hanger! Next chapter is even more eventful than this one! Is this when they discover 'Lysander's' secret? What will Harry do when he wakes up? What will happen next?! Tune in next chapter to find the answer to these questions and many more!**


	9. Revelations, Returning and Ghosts

Revelations, Returning and Ghosts

**A/N: Sorry folks who were hoping otherwise, too many people have been crying out for Harry to reveal himself and I'm a sucker for trying to please everyone! **

**Yes, someone discovered one of my small flaws, Teddy would have had a Grandmother but thankyou for saying it doesn't matter, I only realised after reading someone else's Fan fic! Let's just say she died out of grief for losing her husband and daughter. **

**Now, without further ado the chapter you've all been waiting for! Oh dear, that sets high expectations doesn't it? Ooer. **

**Disclaimer: Yes, I am actually J.K Rowling writing a sequel to Harry Potter but I decided to try it out on Fan Fiction first. Five words: I do not think so.**

Revelations, Returning and Ghosts 

Harry came to, the darkness lifting like a veil being drawn back from his eyes. He was too groggy to form any coherent thoughts, his chest hurt like someone had pummelled it with a couple of bricks, he could register that at least. Slowly, he realised a growing sense of _something_ was forming in his stomach, something was wrong, but his mind was too clouded to work out what.

His vision was blurred so he felt absent-mindedly in his pocket for his glasses, pulling them out and clearing his vision as he put them on. Even through the blurs of colour there was something familiar about this room…just as he placed his spectacles on his mind became clear and sharp with his vision.

He was in a room at the Burrow. He began scrambling up and suddenly stopped as pain shot through his chest, he bent over groaning where, he now remembered, two stunning spells had hit him. His glasses slipped down his nose-his _glasses_-Harry knew this only meant one thing, if he needed his glasses; the disguising spell had worn off whilst he was unconscious.

There was really only one word to sum up this situation.

"_Fu-"_

It was at that moment that Molly Weasley walked in and screamed.

Everyone was downstairs in either the living room or kitchen and Hermione was raging. Some things, at least, never changed. "What the _hell_ did you think you were doing?" her face was still tear-stained from the funeral but nothing but absolute fury burned in her eyes as she rounded on Ron and Bill. "Running off in the middle of the service, chasing after a complete stranger, cornering him at the end of the alley and _attacking_ him?! Imagine the amount of _trouble-_"

"Look, he was about to hit one of us with something, besides, I'll just pull a few strings at the ministry-"

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, you are not going to abuse your position of power to make up for your own stupidity!" Bill patted Ron on the back consolingly and tried to slip out the room.

"Bill! You should have stopped him!"

"It's not my fault we both stupefied him at the same time, it was an unfortunate coincidence that he got the full blast of both spells I'll admit…"

"So what did you do with him?"

"We apparated him here, it's all we could think of to do," said Ron sheepishly, "He's still unconscious at the moment, Mum's just gone upstairs to check on him."

"Merlin, is _he_ going to be angry when he wakes up," grinned Bill who obviously thought it quite funny.

"I don't know, you saw how freaked out he was when we caught up with him. Why do you think-"

"This isn't about another conspiracy theory Ron, you need-" But Hermione was cut off by a scream coming from upstairs.

Harry had straightened up, staring frantically at Molly who was now clutching the door frame and gaping at him as if he was ghost, which, he knew, was probably what he appeared to be. He took an awkward step towards her, "Molly," he said quietly, but just then the thunder of feet could be heard growing louder as around ten people came haring into the room.

"Oh my God." Hermione was the first one to voice it. They all gawped at him, he stared back, he had no idea what he was going to do, so instead decided to give up resisting and let it happen.

"I am not going mad; you can see him too, right?" George glanced around at them for assurance.

"Harry?" Ron asked in a strained voice, clearly not believing what his eyes where telling him.

"But-you're dead," Percy said suddenly, as if he resented the fact that Harry was apparently defying the laws of reality.

Harry frantically searched his mind for something to say, but it all sounded pointless. He opened his mouth but was suddenly almost knocked off his feet. "Oh…Harry!" Hermione sobbed through the tears he could now feel soaking his robes.

Her hug was painfully familiar and comforting. He fought to maintain control when all he wanted to do was break down and cry in his friend's arms. The sight of them all had ripped fresh wounds into his scarred heart; it was all he could do not to let his face crumple in the pain it brought.

Hermione lifted her head stepped back so that Harry could see them all. Most of them were still standing in the doorway, a look of complete and utter disbelief plastered on their faces. Harry's gaze immediately flicked to Ron's face as he was at the front of the group. He was very pale and Harry could see him shaking, slowly he opened his mouth.

"_NO._" he said too loudly. "_No,_ Hermione, it's a Boggart or something, or someone using polyjuice potion, it's not real." He sounded forcefully self-assured, almost pitying, as if Hermione was the one deluding herself.

"Ron, don't be ridiculous, it's-it's-this is _Harry_, can't you see?" But she had stumbled over his name, and she stared at Harry with doubt. "You…you _are_ Harry, aren't you?" the question sounded ridiculous, but no one was laughing.

Harry knew he had to say something but seemed oddly unable to. Yet no one tried to interrupt as his mind slowly began to switch on and become capable of speech again.

"I'm real," he said, with pained truthfulness, the number of times he had wished he wasn't, that he was just dust on the wind.

"_Liar!" _Ron spat, with a venom that shocked them all, "You're not Harry-Harry's dead! Dead, and he's not coming back!" His voice shook with his body, a sense of overwhelming rage and grief making it self visible and audible.

Harry had not really expected anything like this. He should have, he knew, he was not surprised that Ron clearly hated him, but he had not foreseen his denial that he was even _alive._

"What did the prophecy say?" Harry asked quietly.

"Shut up!" Ron made as if to hit him, but stopped short, as if afraid Harry was something dangerous.

"What did the prophecy say, Ron?" Harry asked a little louder, " _Neither can live while the other survives._ That was it, wasn't it? You know I never told anyone that but you and Hermione."

Harry could hear his voice also shaking, but did not care, he did not know even know why he was attempting to gain Ron's belief so hard either. What did it matter if they believed him or not? In fact, wasn't it better they all _did_ think him some impostor so he could just disappear again?

But Harry knew it was too late for that. He internally cursed himself, all the pain he had tried to avoid was flooding into him. All the pain he seemed to bring others wherever he went had also returned, his attempts had been as worthless as he felt.

At Harry's proof Ron's mouth gaped, he stumbled back, the rest of the audience parting for him as he pelted down the stairs, his frenzied muttering echoing after him. Charlie, Bill and Percy, after sending burning looks of incredulity Harry's way, followed him.

The now lessened size of the group made Harry feel even more intensely uncomfortable. Hermione looked at him again and burst into tears. "How can this even be possible?" she enveloped him again in a hug that sent pain shooting through his chest, and not just because of the stupefying spells.

"But, Harry, where have you _been?_" Arthur Weasley seemed to be sharing everyone's still present feeling of incomprehension. Harry shifted in his position, seemingly unable to look at them. "Around the country, most places…as Lysander Reubels…"

When Harry looked up he accidentally caught sight of the one face he had been forcing himself desperately to avoid seeing. Ginny was a white as a sheet, or a ghost, Harry got the impression that she hadn't been looking at him throughout the whole interaction. She was staring at the floor, shaking in such a slight movement that you had to peer closer to catch it. Harry was vehemently reminded of some of the patients in Frank and Alice Longbottom's ward at saint Mungo's.

At this thought Harry turned away, leaning his head against the wall as the pain in his chest threatened to overwhelm him. Look what he had done, by just returning he had caused this reaction in people, hurting them just as he always did, as each day of his disappearance he had dreaded and vowed never to do again.

Ron had gone off in a fearsome rage; the vehemence of which Harry had never seen in him in all their years of friendship, is this what Harry had turned him into? Bill and Charlie and Percy couldn't even be in the same room as him and Ginny…his body was wracked with involuntary shudder at the thought of the damage he had caused, was still causing.

Suddenly he turned, decided. "I should go."

He muttered as he pushed past them, headed for the stairs. As he did so he brushed past Ginny still staring at floor, perhaps unable to see anybody else, but when his arm touched her shoulder she emitted a small gasp, as someone had pricked her with needle. For one brief, split second she looked up and caught Harry's gaze in which he saw with identical pain the swirling depth of her anguish, and then she was gone. Feet thudded from the room followed by the sound of someone vomiting violently into a toilet.

This was all the conformation Harry needed, if indeed it drove the knife deeper into his heart, he flew down the stairs, Lysander's cloak, which he still wore, swirling behind him. "What?" he heard the remaining Weasley's collective question and then followed cries, dominated by Hermione's voice.

"No, Harry, Wait!" They reached him in the kitchen where Ron and his brothers had been trying to avoid him. "What are you doing? Please-you can't go!" Hermione's tears continued to splash down her face, confusion and desperation plastered there among the other towering emotions.

"Let him, Hermione, he left us once before, why should he be worried now?" Ron's voice was shaking again, and he was glaring at Harry. Harry took a step back, disconcerted and speechless, "I-er…"

"It must have been so easy, mustn't it? Just taking off without a second thought! I'll make it easier for myself shall I? I'll leave a suicide note so no one comes bothering me, is that what you thought? You must have laughed to yourself about _that," _

"Stop it." Harry's words were so quiet that only Hermione, closest to him, heard it, her eyes widened.

"Bet you thought it was great fun that we swallowed your little hoax," Ron continued spitefully, "And then you thought you'd come and have a good chuckle at us at the funeral didn't you? You-"

"STOP IT!" Harry's mind was filled with the red of Ron's hair, his familiar face, his voice, so well-known, bursting with hurt and hate. As soon as Harry shouted the words the plates by the sink smashed in a powder of ceramic, the glasses in the cupboards exploded in a rush of tinkling glass and a vase on the table shattered. Everyone jumped back, cries of shock and alarm echoing around the kitchen.

Harry felt the disgust for himself well up inside, he couldn't even control himself, pathetic. His head was bowed, his dark fringe obscuring his eyes, as he spoke quietly-yet loud enough that they could all hear. "Say what you want," he growled, "hate me, hit me, but I _never once laughed._"

The words had struck a chord with Harry, his dreams full of his parent's deaths and the high cruel laughter, the jeers of the Death Eaters as they circled round Cedric's dead body, laughter was something not to be taken lightly. Which was part of the reason Harry hadn't partaken in it for over four years. He turned to go, having received and caused more injuries than he thought he could take.

"Harry, please-"

The words did not come, as he had expected, from Hermione. He turned slowly, to see Molly Weasley looking at him with tear filled eyes, having not spoken since she discovered him upstairs. "Don't leave again."

"How can you ask that, Molly? When you consider that I as good as…after what I've done to your family?"

"You _are_ my family, Harry!" she stepped forward, her voice cracking, tears spilling over, "How can you not know that? You have been just like a son to Arthur and me, we have loved you like one-"

"Mrs Weasley, I-" Harry's voice broke as he slipped back into his old manner of addressing her, for he now felt like an eleven-year-old boy again. Tears ran down his face and he looked at the floor in shame, the salt water making soft patting noise as it ran off his chin and hit the linoleum floor.

She walked forward and embraced him. He held onto her, the feeling of a mother's love bringing fresh tears as sobs wracked his body and he began to weep in earnest, his head buried in her arms.

All the years and years of pain and anguish were flooding out of him. The people he had lost, the sights and experiences, the responsibilities and expectations that had scarred the heart of one too young. The blame he laid upon himself, the self-deprecation and loathing. The knowledge that he was the only one who could've saved them all, and he had never been strong enough, never quite strong enough to carry it all. Things kept on slipping through his fingers-Dobby, Remus, Tonks, Sirius, Dumbledore, Fred, Mad-Eye, his mother and father, the results of his weakness laid out before him in a series of graves.

She held him for hours, as long as it took for him to cry himself out, being the mother he had always missed, that she had always been for him, as the others began drifting away.

**A/N: I spent forever trying to get this chapter down, it was really hard to write. I hope I did justice to the ideas I had in my head. **

**And, finally, I think two stunning spells would have actually knocked him out for that long a time. I've been thinking about it and McGonagall gets hit by four stunning spells and she's unconscious for days, so I think he would be out for at least a couple of hours.**


	10. Friends, Forgiveness and Teddy

**A/N: I have tried to show the character's reactions in this fan fic in as sincere and genuine a way as possible. I hope I have done them all justice. I was particularly apprehensive about sending the previous chapter of my 'word-child' into the world, but you were all so well-receiving of it that at a point when my creative confidence could have been crushed (nice alliteration there) it was actually given a boost! R&R Thankyou. :) **

Friends, Forgiveness and Teddy 

Harry finally pulled himself from Molly's arms with embarrassment, the tears gone and his grip on the reality of the moment had returned all too swiftly. She smiled wanly at him, the taut expression a shallow cover for the suffering it had caused her to see him in such pain. He recognised the look for what it was, and looked down at his feet trying also to hide the flicker of self-disgust that he knew would be there at the realisation of the injury he had caused Molly.

"I'm…so sorry," he murmured.

Molly Weasley took his chin in her hands and pulled his face gently up to meet her eyes. "No more hiding from the world Harry, or else how can the world help you?" He nodded, grasping what she was saying with an effort that cost his instincts dearly. He wanted to hide and hate himself, to be away from the watchful eyes of the world, and this was what his old self screamed at him to do, but he knew this was not the answer.

He turned towards the door, knowing his duty yet still not able to disperse the old and familiar emotions that had dwelt in his heart for so long. "Where are you going?" Mrs Weasley asked in a tone that could've been part of an innocent conversation at the Burrow during some happy summer holiday, it helped to think such things could still be revived. "To stop hiding," he said, and headed to find Ron.

Ron and Hermione were in the living room, the tenderness between them visible even to a stranger. And this was how Harry felt. He wondered how it was that four years could change them so much. He looked at Ron, he had become a leader, and Harry somehow knew this was what he had expected all along. How could someone who knew so much about loyalty and kindness and doing what was right _not_ end up instilling such qualities in those around him?

He stepped forward; it was when they looked up and that Harry caught a glimpse of Ron's face that he thought he might break down all over again. It was not the look of harsh hate he had seen before, nor the expression of disbelief and doubtfulness used on his discovery, or even the commanding and curious one worn when he had cornered Lysander at the end of the alley. Ron was looking at Harry like Ron, an expression that made his heart want to swell and break all at the same time.

"Ron," Harry mumbled, but he was already speaking.

"You left." It was no more an accusation and barely even a question, but more a statement. Harry nodded but Ron continued. "We all thought you were strong enough Harry, like fools, after everything you've been through, we somehow still believed that you'd get up after it all, like you've done time after time, and be okay. And then you weren't-" Ron's voice took on a pleading tone now, asking Harry to understand, "and we weren't prepared, just weren't expecting…We sat around doing nothing, just expecting you to come out of it on your own…"

Ron had gotten up from his seat on the sofa and taken a few hesitant steps towards Harry. Hermione followed him, winding an arm around his waist as if it were the must natural thing in the world to do, just a familiar comforting movement. Harry was reminded with a pang the changes in them he had missed over the years, the things they had become, the relationships they had forged, that were now all alien to him.

Harry bowed his head but then, remembering Molly's words, looked up and looked Ron in the eyes.

"The pain I've caused…the things I've done to your family…and then, yes, I left. It was selfish and wrong. I left you to deal with things far worse than what I told myself I was going through. I deluded myself into thinking it was for the best, another mistake.

"And now I'm going to carry on doing it. I'm going to be so bold as to ask you Ron, and you also Hermione, for your forgiveness-as my friends, my only friends at times. The times I needed you most you were always there for me, and then, when you needed me, I threw it back in your faces. Most people would say that is unforgivable, yet here I am, asking for the impossible."

He stared from face to face defiantly, waiting for the rejection he knew must surely come, "Harry, we thought you were _dead_," he waited for the resentment with dread in each beat of his heart. "How can you believe that after that we would be willing to lose you again? If forgiveness is all it takes, them sign me up on the list, mate."

The last word of Ron's sentence caused a smile to beam on Harry's tired face for the first time in years. It broke through the usual haunted look that dwelt there with pure happiness. "Thankyou," he said quietly and then strode across the room and grabbed them each in a one-armed hug so brief that when he let go, Ron and Hermione both looked at each other in shock as confirmation that it had really happened.

Hermione suddenly grabbed him back in a gesture that was fast becoming usual, and hugged him. But the hug was too tight, and sent spasms running through Harry's chest again, he stepped back with a groan, clutching his chest as dizziness threatened to overcome him.

"What's wrong?" Hermione looked at him frantically, fear in her eyes,

"Stupefying spells…" Harry grunted.

"Oh, you have to lie down!" Hermione's worrying sent blissful warmth through Harry at it's familiarity as she threw a dirty look at Ron. "I'm stunned you even managed to wake up after just a couple of hours, that was strong stuff you were hit with…there's sure to be bruising…"

She pushed him up the stairs back to the room he had woken in, ordering him to lie down on the bed as she went to fetch something. When she returned she was carrying a small glass bottle with some liquid in it and a cloth. It seemed the comfortableness of the routine helped her, she certainly seemed easier as she made Harry remove his cloak, robes and undo his shirt so that she could dab the potion onto his chest which was, sure enough, purple and black all over.

"Thankyou Hermione," he mumbled, enjoying the cool numbing sensation now spreading through his throbbing body. She turned slightly pink as she concentrated on what she was doing, "For what, Harry?" she said it in almost a whisper, saying his name delicately as if it was something precious she was worried she'd break.

"For helping Ron to forgive-" his voice caught as she touched a particularly tender bruise, "-me." He let out the last word with a sigh, becoming strangely drowsy with the numbing effect of the potion, the warmth of the bed and the comforting touch of one of his best friends in the world. Through the haze of sleepiness he saw her bite her lip, "I'm so glad Harry you're-that you're not-that you're here." She avoided his gaze and pushed his shirt aside so that she could dab at his shoulders, not fully hiding the tears brimming over. They were, however, cut short by a gasp.

"Harry, what the hell is _that?"_

Harry, realising what she must've discovered, shifted uncomfortably. "A-a tattoo," he mumbled.

"What in the name of Merlin possessed you to-" her voice caught in her throat as if she was unable to voice such an atrocity.

Harry looked at his hands, he had completely forgotten about the tattoo, and was rather sorry she had found it. "After I left…I went through a rough patch, couldn't get off the Firewhiskey, you see…" he stared harder at his hands as he spoke sadly, "I got pretty plastered sometimes and, well, that's the result of one of the nights I wasn't really sober enough to control myself…" His face burned with embarrassment and he looked away as the still shocked Hermione traced the ink with her finger.

"But," she seemed to unstick her throat, "why, Harry, did you get a tattoo of a _Hippogriff?_"

He frowned almost comically, "I can't really remember, but I think it had something to do with rumour going around in sixth year that I had a tattoo of one of my chest…I guess it reminded me of Hogwarts"

Hermione simply shook her head and, to his surprise, looked sad, "You were that bad, huh? I mean, I knew you suffered a lot but, Harry; you actually had a problem with _alcohol?_ I had an uncle who was alcoholic," she shuddered, "I know what that can do to a person…" She turned to look at him, determination in her eyes.

"That's how this all started, isn't it? We didn't talk to each other, and slowly we just kept on getting more and more distant. Harry, you have to promise me that you will talk to me about anything you are having a problem with, otherwise it will just happen all over again." Shocked by the fervour in her voice he nodded, her face broke into a smile.

"Now, you definitely need some sleep," she decided, eyeing him critically, "and some pyjamas, Harry, have you been _sleeping_ in those clothes?" she asked scornfully. Harry looked at his hands again, remembering the number of times he hadn't bothered to get changed over the last few years. There was a habit he would have to break. Hermione collected some of Ron's nightwear and then, with one last beaming look, left Harry to fall into a deep sleep.

Dreams. The shadowy masked figures in a graveyard. The lifeless face of a young boy. A fluttering curtain in an archway with someone waiting just on the other side. Bodies lain out in a hall, row after row. A hooded figure reaching towards him with withered hands, sucking the happiness from him, stealing his soul…

It was strange to wake in a place that you had told yourself you would never see again. Harry had steeled himself time after time to accept his lot, he deserved to be separated from everything he loved after what he'd done to them. This was the logic he drummed into his mind, yet here he was, barely cost anything for his passage back into his first real home.

Barely cost anything but the emotions that still lurked there, those that threatened to overwhelm him a send him back into despair. When he had been alone he'd been able to wallow in these feelings without fear but now that he was…back they seemed to take on a much more sinister appearance, they were that which had caused him to leave in the first place. And with this realisation came an idea, a glimmer of some greater understanding that Harry now tried to catch hold of.

Could it be, he wondered, that these thoughts and feelings were all that separated him from those he loved? Was it not, as he had so long believed, the deeds that he set in motion, the lives lost due to him, that distanced him from the Weasley's and Hermione, but the reactions he had: caused by such events? Was the only reason he felt he could no longer live among real people not the acts he had performed, instead the very ideas he had created about himself? If so, _he_ was the only thing standing between himself and acceptance from the people he loved.

This revelation was a glimpse of hope for Harry. Just being at the Burrow offered comfort and a glimmer of a chance at happiness that he had thought he would never feel again. The house that he had believed to be his prison during his depression was now the source of hope It was only now that he had lived four long, desperate years without it that he realised the house that was (and had always been) his home was the very thing that had been keeping him sane.

He sat up, examining Ron's pyjamas that smelt suspiciously of Hermione's perfume. Even this small thing seemed to increase the sprouting bud of happiness in his heart; the thought that his two best friends had found such contentment with each other was nothing less than brilliant.

But just as his mind thought this he found himself up and walking towards the door, he padded down the corridor, his legs seeming to know where he was going better than he did. He passed members of the family as he walked; they jumped when they saw him, the idea of his appearance still unexpected. They greeted him tentatively, even uncomfortably at times, he smiled back, equally hesitant.

And then he found himself outside the room he always knew he would end up at. This was his biggest mountain. He stared at it for he knew not how long, his thoughts churning up inside him with his emotions, crashing against his scarred heart like waves against a ship that had weathered too many storms. And then, as if it had grown impatient of his waiting, the door opened of its own accord.

Ginny Weasley looked pale and drawn, her shockingly red hair hung long around her face, contrasting with her ghostly complexion, yet she was still the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. His heart did a somersault and then seemed to plunge into despair. Ron and Hermione was more than he could ask for, did he really stand a chance with this desperate hope?

When she looked up she was faced with the sight of Harry clinging to the doorpost as if he was worried he would fall over, a torn expression on his face. But his eyes were instantly drawn to something small clinging to her legs; it appeared to be a puffskein with arms and legs. Ginny had frozen at the sight of Harry, but the puffskein seemed very much still active, jumping up and down in a way that made it even more puffskein-like.

"Ginny!" it whined, "Pick me up!" Ginny, trance like, swung the small pink thing into her arms with practised ease. Now it was on his level Harry saw that it was, infact, a small boy with a shock of familiarly pink hair, he was bundled up in outdoor clothes so that only his head showed. The boy stared at Harry with wide eyes.

"Ginny!" he whispered to the girl holding him, whose eyes were still very much fixed on Harry. It was the rather unsubtle whisper of child who doesn't realise his every word can be heard. "Who's that?"

Ginny seemed to regain the powers if speech, "That's Harry Potter, Teddy," she said, not looking at Harry any more. Teddy looked him up and down critically, his hair turning orange absentmindedly, "Harry Potter…" he tried the name out, clearly finding it familiar. His little face screwed up in thought, the shade of his hair turning even more violent. "We went to his funeral." Teddy beamed at Ginny, clearly proud with himself, but then his brow furrowed once more. "You said he was gone."

The small boy hardly seemed upset by the fact that a person who everyone said was 'gone' was now standing right in front of him. When Ginny didn't answer, however, he whispered again, "Ginny! Put me down!" She obeyed, and the four-year-old waddled over to Harry, rather encumbered by his attire. Harry bent down, resting so he was level with the boy.

"Hello Teddy." His voice was hoarse, and his eyes swam with tears. Teddy's hair turned pink again with pleasure at the fact that Harry knew his name.

"Hello Harry Potter," he chanted back.

Harry looked up, but Ginny did not meet his gaze. "He looks like Remus." He whispered quietly, trying not to let on the strength of the effect Teddy had had on him. "We're going to the park!" declared Teddy before Harry could speak again. "Do you want to come too?"

Harry did not look at Ginny again as he answered, "I would love too."

**A/N: So this was going to be the last chapter but then I realised I couldn't fit it all in, which is rather annoying cus i thought, well, the beginning bit isn't so great but the ending will rock, only to find that the 'beginning bit' is actually the whole chapter! So luckily for you, there is still one more to come. Anyway, sorry, I had to put the tattoo thing in there because of my sister and our little jokes! Thankyou so so so so so so so MUCH to all my reviewers, alerters, favouriters and just general readers who happen to stop by. Last chappie coming soon :)**


	11. Love, Life and Endings?

**A/N: Reading the reviews for chapter ten sent me on a high (however, the buzz might also have something to do with my weird new addiction to ginger beer) so I immediately sat down and started with the final chapter of my first Fan Fiction sigh. As much as I have enjoyed writing the angst fest I like to call a story it is time to say goodbye…Hope you have gotten as much out of reading it as I definitely have had writing it and tell me if you like the last chapter, or will you all be crying out for alternative endings?? **

**Disclaimer: I forgot to put this for the last chapter-**

**I am not J.K. Rowling…yes, I can see you falling off your chairs with amazement (or maybe you are standing, I don't know, whatever floats your boat!) **

Love, Life and Endings? 

"_This_ is the park?"

As they walked Harry soon realised that there wasn't going to be much conversation but for either Ginny or he answering one of Teddy's enthusiastic comments as he bowled along excitedly, his features changing so quickly it played strange tricks on Harry's eyes. Ginny still did not look at him, she had given no indication she had even realised he was there but for leaving the door open for him when they left the Burrow.

But when they stopped in front of a field ten minutes walk from the village of Ottery St. Catchpole Harry couldn't help himself, he blurted out the question with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment at having to break the silence. It seemed, however, that Ginny couldn't ignore a direct question, her whole posture tightened with her expression and she answered with a hoarse voice as she concentrated hard on helping Teddy climb over a stile.

"This is our park; Teddy can't go to the muggle one in the village because he hasn't got enough control over his metamorphing yet." Her answer was quick and to the point, as if she was worried there was a penalty for using too many words. Sure enough, in the field there was a tyre swing attached to a tree and an old slide. As the small boy set about demonstrating his skill with the swing Ginny sat down on the ground close by, watching him closely.

Harry still stood a few feet behind her, watching the scene. The feeling that he was an intruder hung in the air. It was clear that this was a usual event for Teddy and Ginny and Harry could not help but feel that despite her pretending he was not there his presence had a much more negative effect on Ginny than at first appeared. Shouldn't Ginny have been playing with Teddy? Laughing? Smiling? Shouldn't she be happy?

But there Harry had answered his own question. How _could_ she be happy with him there? He was shocked at himself that he even had the nerve to have taken it this far, normally he would have folded half-way to the door, not having the guts to do this to her. But he guessed his new-found forgiveness with Ron and Hermione must've made him greedy and selfish. He had thought that somehow he had had a right to be there, but that was an arrogant egotistical lie, he had no place to barge back into Ginny's life like this and demand some sort of acknowledgment, it seemed that she was the only one of the Weasley clan who actually saw him with any clarity. As the murderer and coward he was.

The wind flapped his coat and he turned to leave. The constant throb that never left his heart, dulled for a few moments by the appearance of the girl he loved, was returning with full malicious force

"He gets particularly energetic around full moon." Harry froze, unsure whether he had imagined this apparently throwaway comment from the red-head. He scrambled around for something with which to reply, normal conversation was, if applied to Harry's situation, more than he could ask for.

"But he's not-"

"No, he's not, but there is no denying what his father was, the werewolf in him always seems to be lurking beneath the surface. Why, Harry?" Her last comment was so out of the blue it completely caught Harry off guard; his heart gave a vicious throb.

"I-er-" he stuttered, cursing his inability to speak properly.

Ginny finally brought herself to look at Harry again; she found that her pain was also mingled with an overwhelming swelling in her heart she had not felt in a long time. Her eyes roved over Harry's features as she drank them in, unable to deny herself the sight of him being so close after all these years when she thought she'd never see him again. But he had changed, his face always wore a haunted look that Harry did not seem able to shake and the emotions she felt when she looked at him were testimony to how things had altered between them as well.

"Did you think you were being noble? Was that it? Did you think you would save us some grief if you faked your own death? I suppose you thought we'd be better off." She did not need to look at Harry's expression to know she had hit the mark, she knew him too well.

"Yes, that and other things." Harry sounded defeated and ashamed.

"How dare you." Harry froze, and Ginny could feel the anger welling up inside her, pushing aside the other feelings. Her anger was not loud and brash like Ron's, nor violent like Harry's, it was cool and level and infinitely more forbidding. "How dare you make that kind of decision as if we didn't _matter_-"

"Ofcourse you matter." Harry cut across weakly.

"You left without word or warning, leaving a note that you knew would make us assume you had killed yourself, you disregarded any thought of our opinions on the subject, and when you did that you as good as said that we didn't matter."

"Don't you see? I did that for you-besides my own selfish reasons, I'll admit-but to stop the hurt, to end it…" he tried to explain desperately.

"Don't you think I know that's what you thought you were doing? But you were too busy wallowing in your own shame, too busy being a stupid self-deprecating bastard to realise you destroyed a lot more in leaving than staying would have." She was standing up now, facing him, seeing the acceptance in his face as she muttered furiously, holding back due to Teddy's presence.

"You should have known, why did you have to be imbecilic and too smothered by your own emotions to see the obvious? What logic could have justified and deluded you into thinking that pretending to commit suicide would be better than staying and facing your problems?"

But then it hit her, helped by the clue of the look on Harry's pained face, and the anger subsided as quickly as it had come. She was overwhelmed by the familiar instinct to comfort him and her heart twisted at the sensation, dulled initially by the shock of what she had just realised. "You weren't pretending were you? That _was_ you the old woman saw on the bridge, you were actually going to do it…" her voice trailed away in horror.

Despite the fact that she had already believed she'd lost him, probably due to that fact, the idea that he was actually that close to committing such an act was devastating. Harry was staring at her with those big green eyes she still loved so much, waiting for a reaction after the stunned revelation slipped off her frozen expression.

Harry watched her face as is changed slowly into an oddly twisted expression, as if Ginny didn't want to say what she was about to, but was forced to anyway. "Why didn't you? What stopped you from…doing it?"

Harry stopped, she had asked the question that he had been too afraid to ask, too scared that he would nothing more than cowardice if he looked closer at his reasons for not ending it once and for all. But as he looked at Ginny, the wind rustling her red hair against her face, everything suddenly became blindingly clear, and he voiced the true logic behind his decision, realising and speaking them for the first time.

"It was you." He answered, shocked at his own response. "I love you." He hesitated, not looking at her, knowing this statement to be true and only now realising it's relevance to what happened on the bridge. "Being in love is how you know you're alive, right? I think…as long as I still loved you-even if you hated me-I could go on living. Even if you didn't love me back, my love for you, it gave me something to live for." He explained with as much truthfulness as he could; now all he was left to do was to stare as the ground.

Harry heard footsteps, and looked up to see Ginny standing in front of him, a look of softness in her eyes. "I love you too," she said, tears forming in her eyes, she blinked them away, causing droplets to stick to her eyelashes and hang there, glistening, Harry gazed at them, unable to stop wondering at Ginny's beauty. They stood and looked at each other for a long time, but neither made any move to touch the other. There was still a lot of hurt and pain between them, they could not just wipe away the last four years, it was too soon. But they both loved each other, and, over time, that would be enough.

They walked back from the field (Teddy on Harry's shoulders after much persistence) and Harry stopped as the Burrow came into view, it's towering levels meandering into the sky with slanting walls and wonky floors, "I forgot how beautiful it was," he breathed, Ginny looked at him, a smile forming on her lips, and she grabbed his hand and held it as they walked the remaining yards to their home.

--

Breakfast was interesting to say the least. The kitchen was crowded with people bursting with happiness at Harry's return yet trying to suppress it, hesitant at how to treat him and the situation, the result was an odd atmosphere as they tucked into some of Molly's bacon and eggs.

Suddenly there was a great clattering of wings, talons and beaks as around six owls all tried to get through the kitchen window at once. The flurry of noise caused the loud chatter of the family to cease and everyone stared at the ensuing tangle of birds. Someone came to their senses and went to wrench a couple more windows open so that the chaos could end. All of the owls promptly landed in front of Harry, all but one, which carried the Daily Prophet, and had landed in Ron's breakfast, a slice of toast still halfway to his mouth.

Harry pulled the letter off the nearest owl, already knowing what it contained. "It's a letter asking for an interview," he stated, staring at the typed letters on the parchment. He stopped halfway to his second owl as Ron swore loudly, earning a tut from his mother. Harry looked round to see Ron reading the front page of the paper. "Look at this!" Harry read the headline as Ron turned the paper around so they could all see it.

The Boy Who Lived Lives 

"But how do they know?" asked Hermione.

"Never mind that, they were sure to find out sooner or later anyway," Arthur pointed out.

Harry absentmindedly began to read the other letters, which were various requests for exclusive interviews and other such things from the media, but Harry didn't really see them, he was too busy thinking.

Everything wasn't neat and tidy, life didn't work that way, you had to take what you got and make the best of it. The hurt and pain caused couldn't just be eradicated, he knew that better than most, and the past few years couldn't be ignored. But they could learn from them and time would help with all those things that still lurked darkly in their hearts. Harry knew everything wasn't perfect, this was no happily ever after ending, but it was a start, and far more than he could ask for. Harry, after four long years, had hope.

"Look! There's more!" Charlie pointed out the window as several other silhouettes drew nearer.

"There'll be bird droppings everywhere!" Cried Molly Weasley, shooing a greedy owl away from a pile of bacon frantically, much to George's amusement.

Harry looked at the letters in his hands and then at the family surrounding him, _his_ family, and voiced something he had been slowly realising, "This is just the beginning."

**A/N: SOB! It's over! Man was writing the stuff between Ginny and Harry hard, I tried to make Ginny quite stiff cause that's what her anger is about, that's what makes it so brutal. **

**I felt it would feel too easy and false if Ginny and Harry just got back together like that, there was a lot of hurt there, but I hope I made clear they will be together, it just may take a little time. Please, please, tell me if you liked the last chapter-or just give your overall opinion of the story now that it's over and thankyou again to everyone who took a little time out of their day to read this and made me very happy! **


	12. Final Note

Final Note: So yeah, this is the end

**Final Note: So yeah, this is the end. It seemed I didn't make that clear as some people have added this to their alert list and asked for me to update soon! Oh dear, that is clearly a sign the ending wasn't very final. I may consider a sequel later but for now I'm working on something else! **

**In answer to how the press found out I was either thinking along the lines of a Rita Skeeter-esque scenario or, one of the Weasley's (probably Percy) accidentally leaked it to someone, also, don't forget Neville and Luna would have to know, so maybe they got told and then Luna told someone-being Luna! **

**And yes, I know the ending was a little rushed, but, to be honest, I knew how it was going to end and I got a little tired of this story, it was too angsty and dark, after a while writing all that pain and depression really gets you down! Sorry about that, but hey, when the creative juices aren't flowing I just wanted to end it already! **

**Thanks everyone, again, as clearly none of you read the Author Notes! And maybe I'll see you next Fan Fiction! Until then-Mischief Managed! **

**Sanity Is Not Statistical **


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